


Tell Me This Night Is Over

by LokianaWinchester



Series: Jesus Christ Superstar [8]
Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Porn, Pre Canon, jesus is also a mess, judas is a mess, sjcs compliant, uhhhhhhh a wild mix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14408160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: The working title of this was 'Judas is soft and gay' and that's what this is, basically.





	Tell Me This Night Is Over

Love. Not a thing that Judas was very familiar with. Sure, he loved his mother and his two sisters, but there had not really been anybody that he had felt romantic love for. He did not miss it; how could one miss something they did not know? No, he did not miss it, but he felt like he was missing out on something nonetheless. 

When Jesus came into his life, Judas looked around himself. More people every day, all of them loved Jesus. How did it feel, receiving so much love? Judas could not say, but Jesus seemed happy; in fact, Jesus seemed more than just fleetingly happy. He was thoroughly content with his position, giving and receiving love as he went through his life, because this was what his teachings were about. It seemed to Judas sometimes as though this was what his existence was about. Judas had respected Jesus from the moment he met him; Jesus didn’t boast or think himself over anybody, even when many people saw him this way. He had his moments of arrogance, he tended to be a bit bratty, like a child with too much freedom, but he was a good man and Judas felt it.

And then Judas felt something else. At first he did not know exactly what it was, that made his heart clench, that warmed his soul and made his insides flutter, but after some time he tried labelling it ‘love’ and he found that it fit. He loved Jesus, like everybody else, and yet differently. If Jesus knew, he made no efforts to show it. He was touchy with any and every person, and he would make no exceptions for Judas.

Judas was painfully aware that he had no right to expect more from Jesus, but he craved it. God, how he craved it. He wanted to touch Jesus, casually and yet possessively, wanted to hold his hand in public or fix his easily dishevelled hair, wanted the sole privilege to be held in his arms, but he knew that he would never ever have this prerogative. Jesus would never stop being tactile and he would never give up the masses for on person.

Judas’ desire did not stop at touching either; he would be wholly content with it, but he yearned for more than touching. If only he could kiss Jesus. Not the kind of kisses, that Jesus was free in giving, on the forehead, the cheek, but the kind of kisses that were reserved for lovers. How would Jesus kiss? With the care and tenderness, with which he healed the sick? With the dedication and passion, with which he preached to the people? With the vigour and intensity, with which he went through life, no matter what obstacles were put in his way. Or would Jesus kiss with the sheer power and wrath, with which he condemned those, that acted against their next?

Judas was not sure, but he wanted it all and more. Those thoughts of more were reserved for when he was alone. He wanted to unravel Jesus, bring him pleasure until he was incoherent. He wanted to taste every inch of Jesus’ body, wanted to tug his hair roughly while he sucked dark marks into his neck, caress the sore patches of skin afterwards. He wanted to kiss his way down the broad chest, down the soft belly, along sharp hip bones and then hold Jesus down, when he closed his lips around his dick, swallowing him down, making him melt with bliss.

Judas was not inexperienced, he would be able to do all this and so much more with ease. But Jesus did not want him and if there was anything Judas knew, it was that forced relationships of any kind never worked out; he could never force Jesus, or pressure him into anything. And anyway, how would he even do that? Jesus would never let him, even if he was as despicable a person as to try that, especially if he was that kind of person.

Judas was content; his life could be better, he could have chosen to love a more accessible person, somebody he would actually have chance with, but as it was, Judas could in no way have chosen an objectively better person to love.

One day, Jesus’ behaviour changed. In reality it most probably was not one special day, but one day Judas noticed. Jesus spent decidedly more time around him, casually touching him, squeezing between him and Peter at dinner, pressing into Judas’ side, and yet almost shying away from coming into touch skin to skin.

This acted like a gentle gust of air to a tiny spark on paper, for the suppressed hope, Judas was still harbouring, never quite having managed to kill it off all the way. He would never stop loving Jesus. But hoping for something that was still so unlikely, only hurt. It hurt so much. Judas wished it did not; his heart clenched when Jesus was cupping cheeks, kissing foreheads, when Jesus held long and elaborate conversations with the other apostles. He tried not to be jealous and mostly he succeeded, but sometimes he needed to go for a long walk, to clear his thoughts. This was not the worst, however, because Judas felt even more miserable when Jesus was with him, spending his time with him, touching him. It was worse, because he could catch a glimpse at what he could have, at what he wanted to have and he could not bear it. 

After Judas noticed the change in Jesus, there was no going back to not noticing it. He sometimes wondered if he read too much into Jesus’ affection, but he could not tell.

They were sitting by the fire one night after a tiring week for all of them. They had barely come across any towns, so they had been walking a lot. But when there were towns they could never rest either, so it had been an endless exhausting journey. Jesus had sat down next to Judas as soon as they had stopped for the night and barely moved since then. He barely spoke or even ate and Judas was becoming increasingly worried, but he only dared to look at Jesus from the corner of his eyes; anxiety was eating him up alive.

When he felt something heavy on his shoulder, he expected it to be Jesus’ hand, as he got up, telling him he would retire for the night, but as he looked to his left, he found Jesus’ hair falling over his own shoulder as his head had slumped against Judas’ shoulder. 

Judas froze. His brain was empty for a long moment, and even when he could think again, he found no answer to what to do. So he just sat there, unmoving. Jesus’ breath was ghosting over his upper arm and Judas felt his hair brushing softly against his neck with every deep breath Jesus took. After several minutes when Judas was sure, that Jesus was either fast asleep or at least lying on his shoulder on purpose, he put his left arm around Jesus, to stabilise him. At this, Jesus moved slightly, putting some of his weight on Judas’ arm, relying on him to hold him. Once again, Judas ached. He wanted to tighten both his arms around Jesus, have him lie on his chest, play with his hair, murmur soft confessions in a low voice and press kisses onto the soft skin.

But he was forbidden from ever doing that. This situation was the most he would ever get. If he tried any more, he would likely scare Jesus away, alienating him; he would deprive himself of all happiness, even the kind that hurt. Jesus sighed quietly. Whether consciously or not, Judas could not tell, but the soft sound escaping from Jesus’ lips made him wish he had been the reason for it. 

Risking a longer look at Jesus, Judas once again realised how beautiful the man was, how fine his features, that were too often hidden behind the dark curtain of hair. Jesus was always busy, but he also managed not to neglect himself, his beard was well cared for and, his skin soft, his hair washed on a regular basis. Jesus’ eyelids fluttered slightly and Judas looked away guiltily. He was not supposed to indulge. It would not end well.

A short time later, their friends decided to call it a night, Simon offered to wake Jesus up, but Judas shook his head softly.

“He needs rest, I’ll get him to his tent.”

The fire was burning low and the night above them was clear, showing thousands and thousands of stars. Judas was thankful. He was sitting in the most beautiful environment, a warm summer  
night, the air clear, save for the calming smell of the smoke, the burned down fire was still emitting. The man he loved, resting against him peacefully, nobody there to disturb them. Involuntarily,  
Judas’ fingers tightened against the fabric of Jesus’ shirt. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, he wanted to kiss Jesus; rarely had his desire to do so been more pressing.

For a short moment, Judas allowed himself to really imagine. Jesus would stir, look up at him in expectation and Judas would freeze. Because after all, what did you do when the most beautiful man in the world looked at you with half-lidded eyes, hair ruffled from lying on your shoulder? Exactly, you froze. But then Jesus would sneak his own arm around Judas’ hips and he would pull him close, even closer and then their faces would be too close for Judas to recognise any of Jesus’ features clearly, but he would feel him. He would feel the warmth of Jesus’ skin under his fingertips, he would feel the hair against his neck, because it stuck to his shirt. He would feel their breaths tangling and Judas would close his eyes, because his eyes were useless when he could not see, when he could only feel himself burning up on the inside. Jesus would lean in more, their noses would brush. 

Judas took in a sharp breath and opened his eyes. How could he allow this? How could he let himself fall in love with this imagined phantom of a person?

He decided it was time for him to get some rest as well. He moved slowly, so as not to wake up Jesus. Kept his one arm around his back while he looped his other under Jesus’ knees, gently picking him up. He had not expected Jesus to be this light. The man was not short and not especially thin either, and yet Judas could carry him with surprising ease. The way to Jesus’ tent was not far, but Judas almost dropped the unconscious Jesus when he shuffled closer to him, burying his nose in Judas’ hair, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. After taking a deep breath, Judas steadied his grip on Jesus’ middle and went on walking. Jesus did not seem to wake up, even when Judas placed him down on the mattress, he just turned his head and snuggled into the blanket Judas laid over him. He did not leave, not yet. He kneeled down next to Jesus; exhaustion suddenly overwhelming him. He only realised then, how fast his heart was beating and he was sure it was not from carrying Jesus for all of fifteen meters.

Jesus looked so peaceful, his eyes closed, long dark lashes fanning out over his sharp cheek bones. He had his knees pulled almost to his chest, hugging more of the blanket than having it covering him. Judas felt his legs go weak, he sat down, crossing his legs and buried his face in his hands. He was hurting. He needed to leave.

As he made his way back to the entrance, he heard Jesus shuffling behind him. Turning around he saw dark eyes trained on him, his breath hitched.

“Judas?” Jesus’ voice was raspy, he seemed only half awake.

“Yeah?” a soft answer.

“How did I get in here?” Jesus knit his eyebrows together, frowning, as if trying to remember.

“I – I carried you,” Judas said, deciding it was best if he just told him; how else would he explain it?

Jesus was quiet for a moment and Judas wondered if he had said the wrong thing, his anxiety returning with full force. 

“Thank you.” The reply finally came.

“You’re welcome.”

Judas turned away again. He did not think there was more to say. He was parting the flaps of the tent to sneak outside and let Jesus get his well-deserved rest, when Jesus uttered one more word.

“Stay.”

Jesus’ head whipped around so fast that some of his hair got into his mouth, which he spat out before asking incredulously and inelegantly “What?”

“Stay, Judas.” Judas’ heart beat in his throat. He had not misunderstood. “Please”

It was spoken almost too softly for Judas to hear but it was all the convincing he needed. He made his way back over to where Jesus wiggled around on the mattress to make some space for him.  
Still hesitant, Judas lay down, face turned away from Jesus, towards the side of the tent. After a moment, he felt the warmth of the blanket embracing him and relaxed a bit.

But when, a few minutes later, Jesus slid one arm around his middle and pressed himself against Judas’ back, all the relaxation he had just gained, puffed away, dissolved into thin air.

Judas had a hard time falling asleep.

-

Waking up was easier. He had not slept much, so he was immediately alert, even though he felt tired. Jesus was moving. One hand still slung around his waist, but he was unmistakably moving away from Judas. He should have known. Maybe Jesus had not really been conscious when calling him back to sleep. Maybe he realised just now, that he had made a mistake. Judas was not going to make it awkward, so he shifted his hips out of Jesus’ grip, until he lay on his back. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, staring straight ahead at the ceiling of the tent. 

“What are you doing?” came the quiet question from beside him. As much as Judas wanted to, he could not bring himself to turn his head and look at Jesus.

“Moving away from you,” it had to be said.

“Oh” A neutral sound. After all, how could a simple ‘oh’ not be neutral, there was no meaning to it. Jesus was agreeing with him; irrational longing, almost jealously at nobody and everybody rushed through Judas, so that he could not hold back his next words.

“After all that’s what you want, isn’t it?” A single tear rolled down his left cheek. The cheek Jesus could not see.

“Oh” A neutral sound. Or was it? It did not sound neutral this time. It sounded surprised, startled, but why? Jesus knew this already; was he surprised that Judas knew he was not wanted?

Most of the people that clung to Jesus this way were probably much too preoccupied with admiring the Messiah, to consider what he wanted, giving him unwanted attention and not realising that he would rather like to be left alone.

It did not really sound like Jesus, to behave this way, but even he was a human with boundaries and it was his right to enforce them, even though most time he chose not to. Judas sat up. He could not have the conversation about his unreciprocated feelings now. He refused to.

A hand closed around his wrist.

“No.” Jesus’ voice was no longer soft; more commanding, harsh. Was he saying they should have that conversation now? Judas tried to pry his arm from Jesus’ grip, but the man was strong and Judas felt himself melting into the touch, despite all that he knew. He still refused to look at Jesus, he could not handle it, without doing something really something really stupid.

“No, Judas,” Jesus repeated. “That’s not what I want, at all.”

Judas felt his brain crashing and restarting. If Jesus did not want him to move away, then what did he want? Surely he did not mean it, surely he only insisted, because he was a nice person.

“You don’t mean that, Jesus.” Judas heard the defeat in his own voice and flinched.

“I do. There is nothing I want less than for you to leave.”

Judas’ breathing sped up and he felt his heart skip a beat. Finally he fought down the hesitation and looked at Jesus.

He was beautiful, as always, his expression sincere, no joking glint in his eyes, only honesty.

“How?” Judas managed to ask, voice small, insecure.

Jesus did not answer. He let go off Judas’ wrist however, to bury his hand in the soft hair on Judas’ neck. Moving closer. Pulling Judas in.

When their lips met, Judas closed his eyes. He felt Jesus’ beard against his skin, Jesus’ fingers, tugging on his hair, Jesus’ hair, tickling his cheek and Jesus’ lips, moving against his own. After a second, Judas escaped his stupor, moving his hands, that had been at his sides, uselessly, cupping the back of Jesus’ head, not with force of any kind, simply to make it real; to confirm that this was not another figment of his imagination. However, kissing Jesus was better, way better than he could have imagined. Jesus had initiated the kiss. For some reason he wanted this; there was no mistaking the firm pressure of his hand and the eager moan that escaped his throat, as Judas parted his lips to deepen the kiss. 

Jesus’ other hand came up to rest on Judas’ cheek – 

Jesus pulled away. Alarmed, Judas opened his eyes, wondering why. What had he done wrong? Jesus was clearly confused, taking his hand from Judas’ cheek looking at it quizzically.

“You cried?” his voice was unsteady. “Why did you cry?”

It seemed childish now, how Judas had started crying simply because he thought Jesus wanted him to leave. But he could not leave Jesus, who looked at him, as though his heart had been broken  
by that single tear, without an answer. He averted his eyes. Jesus would think him ridiculous.

“I thought – I thought you wanted me to leave,” he mumbled. For a second there was no reaction. Really, Judas had not expected one. Then Jesus’ hand was back on his cheek, lifting his head so he was face to face with him.

“I made you cry?”

Judas did not want to answer. It had not really been Jesus. Even if Jesus did not want him, it was never his fault that Judas cried. It was always Judas hoping too much, loving too much, yearning  
too much for what he could not have. When he got no answer, Jesus pulled him close, wrapped his arms around Judas’ shoulders and neck, holding him in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry. I never – I don’t like it when you cry. Much less if you cry because of me.”

Judas felt like he was about to burst. Barely ten minutes he had thought this scenario near impossible and now he was lucky enough to be wrapped in Jesus’ arms, to have kissed him, to taste him on his lips. He turned his head and brushed his lips over Jesus’ neck, feeling him shiver under his touch. In a flurry, Jesus’ lips were back on his own, like he could not get enough of Judas. A low moan escaped his throat, to which Jesus reacted by tracing his tongue over Judas’ lips, slipping between, deepening the kiss, tilting his head.

It was more than Judas would ever have dared to hope for. And now that he had it, he found himself satisfied in the moment, happy to just kiss, enjoy the newly found intimacy.

-

If Judas thought about it, not a lot changed. The transition from intense pining to the fulfilment of his dreams was surprisingly smooth. They had spent a lot of their time together before, so in that regard barely anything changed. Jesus was not a big fan of publicly advertising their relationship, which, frankly, was understandable with all the attention he was getting. But now, whenever he touched Judas, he lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary. Sitting together after supper, Jesus started holding his hand, a small but reassuring gesture for both of them, speaking loudly to people who knew them. The apostles took their being together in stride, they had seen it coming maybe more so than Jesus and Judas had themselves. To Judas’ disappointment, they had not much free time together. Jesus was still a busy man, the roads they travelled were no less exhausting to walk and the only times they were not the centre of attention for entire towns, was at night, and even those were short. 

After their initial kiss, Judas had expected Jesus to be more forward. He had thought this man, that kissed him good morning, like the world was about to end, would be all over him by the end of the week, but Jesus was holding back and Judas did not blame him. He had been around Jesus for some time and in all that time he had never once noticed somebody special. There had been no man, or woman for that matter, who he devoted special attention to, who exited Jesus’ tent in the morning, who gave him love bites or even ruffled his hair more than usual. So Judas thought it possible that Jesus had not had sex in quite a while, which could explain the hesitation. Maybe it was simply what he felt was required of him, as the messiah; because Jesus did have normal bodily urges. More than once now, Judas had woken up in the morning, not unlike that fateful first time, with Jesus’ hard-on pressing into his lower back. He wanted to seize the opportunity at hand, he had for months at this point, but he could tell that Jesus was uncomfortable, so he ignored it. He wanted to turn around lazily, without opening his eyes, feel for Jesus’ face, enjoying the closeness, until he stirred awake. He wanted to start kissing him and then push his hips forward, pushing one leg between Jesus’ and enjoy the sweet sounds he would be making. 

Or maybe he would take it slow, kissing Jesus awake gently, caressing his cheek, using his other hand to run his fingers through his hair or pull him close and deepening their kiss, making Jesus shiver with want before touching him.

Perhaps he would skip the kissing all together and just wake Jesus up by wrapping his lips around his dick, swallowing him down, basking in the moans Jesus would not be able to hold back, as he woke up.

And yet, every time it happened, Judas did nothing, letting Jesus pull back his hips, thinking that Judas was still asleep.

Then one day it was different. Judas woke up to soft kisses on his neck. He did not bother to hold back a moan, as he shivered with excitement. He turned around finding Jesus smiling at him, his eyes half closed, meeting Judas’ gaze through long lashes. Judas did not have it in him to hold back now, slinging his arm around Jesus’ waist to pull him close, using the other one to lightly  
brush the hair out of Jesus’ face, earning him a broadening of the smile into a happy grin, before a peck was planted on his lips.

“Good morning” Jesus uttered, but Judas did not answer. Instead he leaned in to capture Jesus’ lips in another kiss.

Jesus was startled for a second but just when Judas wanted to pull back, afraid that he might have crossed a line, Jesus’ hand came up to cup his cheek, and keep him close, thus mirroring his own position.

Judas rolled over the rest of the way so he was above Jesus, his heart beating faster, as he felt Jesus’ hips lightly bucking up against his own. It was happening; Jesus really trusted him enough to take care of him like this and Judas was going to make him feel so good.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, while his one hand found the hem of the shirt, Jesus was wearing to sleep, pulling it up. He interrupted the kiss to allow Jesus to free himself of the shirt completely, and admired the sight before his eyes. Jesus was sprawled on his back, looking up at him with his eyes dark and his lips red. But with this much skin revealed, Judas was not going to kiss him again very soon, at least not on the mouth. Instead he kept the eye contact and gently started caressing Jesus’ tummy, his fingers drawing circles on the skin, tracing invisible patterns.  
Jesus’ eyes fell shut and he bit his lip, failing to hold back a moan. So he liked this.

Judas leaned down, adding his lips and tongue to the mix. Jesus’ skin was so soft, so kissable and Judas did just that, swirling his tongue along the patterns his fingers had drawn, sucking on the sensitive skin above his hip-bones. In the movement under his lips he felt Jesus’ breath starting to go faster, as he slowly made his way up to Jesus’ chest, devoting his entire concentration on teasing Jesus.

Jesus gasped, when Judas closed his mouth around a nipple and circled it with his tongue, sucked on it, scraped his teeth along as he pulled off. Judas was getting exactly what he wanted. For Jesus to enjoy himself, to lose himself in pleasure. After kissing his neck and leaving a few obvious marks, when Jesus did not protest, Judas took his time to admire his work. Jesus was squirming by now. His head was thrown back, hair all over the place, small pants escaping his throat with every single breath. And it was all Judas’ doing. When he started kissing Jesus again, the response was overwhelming. Jesus’ mouth opened immediately, his tongue searching for Judas’, low moans as the accompanying soundtrack. Jesus thrust his hips upwards, rubbing his dick against Judas’ through two layers of fabric and at once Judas felt the need for hurry as well. Hastily, he removed both their underwear and got some lube from the small compartment in his bag, he had started to keep some. Jesus was watching him with wide eyes, heavy breaths clearly audible in the small space.

Judas spread the lube on his fingers, sitting between Jesus’ spread legs, before moving his hand to his ass, finger slowly circling Jesus’ entrance, but Judas’ gaze was firmly on Jesus’ face checking for any discomfort. The last thing was for this to turn sour because he was not thinking about the one thing he wanted to do; make Jesus feel good.

“Are you sure about this?” He needed to hear it from Jesus. Because he knew how good he was at masking what he truly felt. But Jesus had become increasingly bad at lying to Judas so when he nodded in confirmation “Yes, yes, so sure” words leaving his lips with no hesitation, Judas was sure that Jesus was speaking the truth.

He leaned in for a kiss, that Jesus was eagerly reciprocating, pushing in bit by bit, noticing with satisfaction, that Jesus was pushing against him, urging him deeper. After a couple of thrusts, Jesus pulled back. 

“More. Please” The last word came out as a soft whimper, that Judas felt resonating in his soul, sending shivers down his spine. He complied; he felt Jesus clenching, when he added a second finger.

“Hey, Jesus, babe. Relax, okay? It’ll be so good, I promise.” Jesus looked up at him with so much adoration, that Judas could barely comprehend it, and he felt Jesus relaxing around him. Judas pushed all the way in, spreading his fingers a little while pulling out, opening Jesus up slowly, then bending his fingers slightly, trying to find the right angle, until Jesus threw back his head, letting out a deep moan, and Judas knew he had been successful.

“Again, again, please” Jesus was panting beneath him and Judas’ lips curved into a smile as he did so, eliciting beautiful choked cries from Jesus. He added a third finger, but he was not really sure, Jesus noticed at all, lost in pleasure, going deliciously loose around Judas, until he pulled out and grabbed the lube once more.

Jesus’ dark eyes were following his every movement, seemingly fascinated by Judas, which was not something he would ever understand, but was beyond pleased by.

Judas used a generous amount of lube; the last thing he wanted was to make Jesus uncomfortable in any way.

“Do you – ” he started, but was interrupted by Jesus.

“Yes, I really do want this, please just – I’ve waited so long, I’ve doubted myself and I don’t know… everything really, but if I’m sure of one thing, it’s you. Please.”

How could Judas do anything but obey his request? He pushed in slowly, but Jesus was impatient, pushing against him, until Judas was all the way inside him. It felt glorious, way better than he could ever have imagined. He took a deep breath; then started to move at a faster pace, leaning down, to kiss along Jesus’ collarbone, mouthing at his neck, sneaking one hand between them to start giving Jesus’ dick more attention than the friction created by his thrusts. He was rewarded by Jesus’ throaty moans; a better reward, than anything Judas could have wished for. It fuelled his pleasure, fuelled his desire to never do anything other than be there for Jesus, support him, give him pleasure and all his love, because Jesus deserved nothing less. After a few differently angled thrusts, Jesus cried out in pleasure, head falling backwards, eyes pressed shut, as Judas continued pounding into him, continuing to hit his prostate time after time.

Jesus’ one hand gripped the back of Judas’ head, his own head still angled back, to give him better access to his throat, moans vibrating under Judas’ lips. His other hand settled on Judas’ back, at first carefully controlled, then increasingly frantic, digging his fingernails into Judas’ skin. His hips thrust up to meet Judas’ whose movements became irregular and when Jesus clenched around him, coming all over their hands, the most delicious sound Judas had ever heard, leaving his lips, it took Judas two – three – four more thrusts until he followed Jesus over the edge, with a raw cry, collapsing onto him, blissed out.

Inhaling the scent that was so Jesus, nose buried in the dark hair, he came to his senses again after a few moments and pulled out, reaching beside him, too exhausted to get up, for his underwear to wipe down Jesus who lay there, breathing heavily with his eyes still closed.

When Judas was done, he found Jesus looking at him intensely. Once again Judas wondered how he deserved this being, that was so beautiful in both body and soul. He leaned over to kiss Jesus, softly, his heart beating fast.

When he pulled back, Jesus spoke up, quietly.

“Thank you.” He got hold of a strand of Judas’ hair, slinging it around his finger, pulling him closer in the process.

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Because you treat me like a person. So many people just see – God… when they look at me they don’t see me, but you do and I love you so much it hurts sometimes, Judas, but all those people  
that don’t really know me – they don’t see that. If they knew… I sometimes wonder if they would stop believing all those stories if they knew that I love one above all else. I’m only realising all that myself, but it’s true and when I found out that you loved me too, I was so, so glad because I knew that you saw me as the person I truly am. I am no God, if He really is my father, that does not make me Him, does it? Does it? I make mistakes, I sometimes fail, I’m not perfect and you know that and still love me. That’s why I’m saying thank you.”

Judas found himself speechless. He would never have thought that Jesus was thankful simply because he loved him, like any person in their right mind should.

“Of course I love you. So much.”

There was nothing more to be said. Jesus’ soft smile at his words, showed Judas that Jesus believed him, a matching smile spreading on his own face, happiness blooming in his heart.

Judas closed his eyes, shuffled closer to Jesus and wrapped his arms around him, enjoying the closeness. He rested his head on Jesus’ shoulder, feeling his breaths in the movements of Jesus’ chest under his cheek and he felt at peace, once again feeling like this was his destiny, to end up in this moment with Jesus in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Hang out with me on [tumblr](https://lokianawinchester.tumblr.com/) or look at my Jesus Christ Superstar posts on [my side blog](https://this-broken-man.tumblr.com/). Feel free to send me prompts!


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